A Change of Heart
by insignficant
Summary: Elizabeth was everything Connor hated in a person; she was stubborn, distrustful, lacked any emotion, and was damn near useless, but as they sat huddled together in their prison cell, cold and hungry and broken, he couldn't help but think: maybe the reason why he hated her so much was because she reminded him too much of himself. EVENTUAL Connor/OC. Starts 1 year after Sequence 5.
1. The Beginning

**Just a heads up: this story is rated M for a reason. Voilence, language, sexual situations, all that jazz. While some of it will not be for at least fifteen chapters, i am still warning you now and will warn you in said chapter.**

**Talk to you at the bottom!**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Everything else belongs to Ubisoft and their respected owners.**

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{...}**  
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_Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you_  
_ Run boy run! They're dying to stop you_  
_ Run boy run! This race is a prophecy_  
_ Run boy run! Break out from society_

_ Tomorrow is another day_  
_ And you won't have to hide away_  
_ You'll be a man, boy!_  
_ But for now it's time to run, it's time to run!_

_-Run, Boy, Run by Woodkid  
_

_(Inspired this story)  
_

{...}

Elizabeth Whiting sucked in a deep, needed breath as she adjusted the blond wig atop her head. It was itchy as all hell, and she didn't understand why the casting directors needed a long-haired blond girl. What was wrong with short hair like hers?

Clad in a silken, ankle-length gown the color of a cloudy sky, Elizabeth was quite uncomfortable. The skirts opened in front to show the petticoat worn beneath; the bodice of the gown was open in front and was filled in with a decorative stomacher, colored a rosy pink with speckles of gray, pinned to the gown over the corset beneath. The tight-fitting, elbow length sleeves ended in ruffles the same pink color as her stomacher, and the dress was, all in all, squeezing her out of her skin.

One of the fellow actors, named Ericco, nudged her in the shoulder, noticing her odd fidgeting. "Calm down, Elizabeth. It may be your first big production, but I know you'll do great," he said, giving her an assuring pat on the shoulder.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and adjusted the tight corset around her waist, and it felt like her insides were rubbing at each other with each move she made.

Yet again, Elizabeth had gotten one of the minor parts and Marzia Federicco was cast as the main character. It was no surprise, given the fact that she was everything the casting director was looking for - dark-skinned, barely legal and stick-thin. She was also a beautiful full italian, and that always helped.

Elizabeth peered around the satin curtain that fell in rivets from the tall ceiling to the oak stage and glanced around at the full theatre. She noticed the scent of cigars and expensive perfume mingling in the air around her and scrunched up her nose in disgust when a wave of nausea hit.

"You're on, Liz," Errico whispered in his Spaniard accent as he briskly walked past her and stood at the stage entrance. She quickly passed him and adjusted the wig to sit atop her head, shoes clapping against the floor.

Elizabeth stared in awe at the beauty of the theatre before her; large, stain-glass windows were covered in matching burgundy curtains, all the seats on the floor were filled with different personalities, shapes, and sizes and the walls were covered in beautiful marble carvings. It was the fanciest theatre in all of London, and she, at only seventeen, was in one of the largest performances to date.

The girl quickly ran over her lines and blocking as she strode over to stand in her place on stage for the start of the scene. Liz searched through the hundreds of faces in an attempt to find her family. Her father - who she hadn't seen for the whole day until then - was seated in one of the front rows on the ground in all of his gentlemanly glory, smiling warmly at her, and her mother was on one of the balconies overhead. She could see the dark-headed woman peer down at her with a large wave of her hand, the man Elizabeth greatly disliked by her side like he always was when he visited London for "work", as he liked to call it. Of course, her father had no idea what kind of men her mother traipsed around with.

"_Luck maith_," she heard her mother say over the silence of the crowd.

The scene started and the curtain opened to reveal Elizabeth, Marzia and Clare, all in their respective places.

Elizabeth walked forward, and rolled her shoulders back. "Indeed, Ma'am, I transferred half the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I haven't been at," Elizabeth - or "Lucy", her character - said.

Marzia was sitting on a sofa with a book in hand, portraying Lydia quite well. "And could not you get The Reward of Constancy?"

Elizabeth paused and walked over to where Marzia was sitting. "No, indeed, Ma'am."

"Nor The Fatal Connection?"

"No, indeed, Ma'am."

"Nor The Mistake Of The Heart?"

"Ma'am," Elizabeth started, "as ill-luck as it would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away."

Marzia laughed, a mockery of Elizabeth's misfortune she could tell, but to any onlooker, it just seemed like a cue of the script. Elizabeth, above all of her seething, simply rolled her eyes.

{...}

After two hours of constant sing and dance, Elizabeth was ready to gnaw her eyes and ears off. It was torture having to watch the performance again and again earlier that day, but with the new found dramatics of the actors and actresses brought on by the first performance, she wanted to jump out of the nearest window. Of course, after all of that, the blonde-headed girl was more than happy to run for the nearest exit after the play was finished and the director gave the cast a "good job" pep talk.

Elizabeth was greeted on the staircase by her mother and father, the British man nowhere to be found, so she suspected that the two lovers had decided it was time to part ways. That night, though, her mother would be gone by midnight and wouldn't be back until midday the next day, that much the girl knew. She always was when he visited London.

Brigid embraced her daughter with a hearty, "_Mo Elizabeth álainn. Rinne tú chomh maith_.."

Elizabeth stood, puzzled for a moment as she tried to decipher her mother's words. She only knew English, and was never taught the Irish that her mother spoke every other sentence. Thank God that her father was British and didn't know any other languages. "What did you say?"

Brigid chuckled. "I said, 'My beautiful Elizabeth. You did so well.' Sometimes I forget that you cannot speak the language of your heritage, _mo ghrá._"

The young actress chose to ignore that last snippet of words and instead turned to her father. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the different attire he had chosen. He looked quite nice in his new white waistcoat (which had more buttons than her and her mother's dresses combined) laced with gold at the edges, and sported a crimson waistcoat, white breeches, boots, and that stupid tri-tipped hat that he loved so dearly. It was a great change to see him without those boring white robes on.

"You look very... spiffy today, Father." Elizabeth grinned. "Special occasion?"

"Well, the occasion that I get to see my daughter once every two months," he replied smoothly, sneaking a glance to Brigid before turning back to Elizabeth with a petite grin on his face. "I blame your mother."

"I have ears, ya know," said-woman hissed from behind Elizabeth. "And just because I'm not the best mother in the world doesn't mean you can chalk everything up to being my fault."

Her parent's relationship was hard to explain. They weren't legally divorced, yet the two lived halfway across the world from each other and saw other people. The only time Elizabeth was able to see her father was when he visited for "work", and her mother was ever rarely home, always filling the hole in her heart with various men she found around the city to bring home. It was disgusting really. So, imagine Elizabeth's surprise when Brigid brought her to the theatre she was standing in to meet the British man her mother was seen with earlier. Brigid then explained to her that she really liked the man, but the only time she would be able to talk with him (and other activities) was when he came to London for "work". Elizabeth chalked it up to her mother being lonesome and trying to replace her father, but the girl didn't like her mother's new lover. It was obvious that he was just using her for what most men used women for. He just seemed like a complete asshole.

Elizabeth pursed her painted lips and stepped around her father to avoid any unwanted conversations. "I'll be downstairs if you two want to chat..." She suddenly spotted the black hair of Errico squeezing through the crowd when she leaned over the staircase, and practically leaped down to get to him before any protests from her parents could be made.

"Errico!" she yelled over the steady hum of mingled voices and raised up the front of her dress to keep from tripping as she, too, struggled through the growing crowd.

...

His hands shook as they dug deeper inside the pockets of his trousers. He could hear Elizabeth yelling for him, could almost smell her perfume as she closed in on him. He had to get out of the theatre before he was discovered. His hand unconsciously clutched at the red cross around his neck, hidden under his clothes. Errico walked a little faster as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a man being tackled on his left, and beads of cold sweat instantly dotted his neck. If only Haytham would have done his job instead of letting someone less experienced with killing handle it. Oh, how Errico hated that man, but he was smart enough to know: when you were involved with people like him, you knew not to try anything funny. It would cost you your life, no questions asked.

The young man turned a sharp right corner and walked right into Haytham. The elder looked down at his student and gave him nothing but a sharp, appraising nod, with a short, "Very good."

...

Elizabeth was taken aback as she peered around the corner to see Errico and her mother's lover/boyfriend/friend-with-benefits having a small conversation. It seemed as if they both were in a great hurry to exit the place because both men quickly ducked in to the large crowd and seemingly disappeared. And then there was the chaos.

The actress was shoved in the direction of the door by a crowd of people screaming bloody murder through the hallway she was in. She huffed out a breath when a balding, older man with a large stomach grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her with him through the calamity.

"Cecilia, let's go!" the man grunted. "There's been a murder on the upper balcony and your mother and I are not sticking around to find out who caused it." Of course, he quickly let her go when he turned to look at her and noticed that she wasn't his fifteen-year-old daughter. The two girls shared the exact same hair and dress color, in his defense.

After a while of struggling, Elizabeth finally wiggled her way through the theatre's entrance door and out into the city. The cool air felt amazing against her sweaty skin, caused by the stuffy air and two hundred people packed into one room all at the same time. The milky crescent had risen to its peak in the sky and casted a pale light on Elizabeth's face, causing her cream skin to lighten considerably. She heard a string of Irish curses coming from none other than Brigid, and she quickly went to search for the person in which the voiced matched.

{...}

For the next half hour, Elizabeth searched for both of her parents out in the freezing cold, with no sign of the carriage they had ridden there in. She decided it would be best to find Errico - since he always stayed near the theatre late at night for whatever reason - and let him walk her home. Brigid had always told Elizabeth to never walk the streets at night; it was too dangerous, especially for a girl her age.

She eventually found him sitting a few blocks away from the theatre outside of an old tavern. He had his head buried in his hands, raven hair splayed wildly as he nervously brushed it through shaking fingers. He brought his knees further up against his chest.

"Errico?" Elizabeth said, trepidation coloring her voice. She bent down beside him and immediately noticed the fresh tears on both cheeks.

It felt strange seeing her fellow actor show such... fear? Anger? Shame? In the few months she had known him, never had he shown up with anything but a gleaming smile on his handsome face. This new epiphany Elizabeth had learned - the epiphany that Errico was but a human just like her - made her slink back just a little bit. It made her insides knot together at the stunning realization that this was a moment few people were allowed to see; in that moment, the young man was raw with emotion and oh, so ashamed of something he had done. It was evident in the way he carried himself, shoulders slouched to the ground in defeat and knees brought close by an instinct to protect.

"That _bastardo_," he finally hissed through grit teeth, though the words brought no anger with them as the tears continued to race down his cheeks. "How can he take this so lightly?"

"Who?" Elizabeth pressed, shaking the man's shoulders, "What happened?"

Errico languidly shook off the iron grip she had on his arms. "_Lasciami in pace_. I am none of your concern."

"The hell you aren't! You are my best friend, Errico. Why would you be of no concern to me? I care about you."

In one swift move, his hand was wrapped around her wrist and his fingers held her chin in place as his mouth moved closer to hers. His brown eyes studied the dark green hues of her own, and there was a darkness in them she had never seen before. There was a twinkle somewhere in his eyes that had become overshadowed by a distasteful matte.

"If you care about anyone who murders for a living, you might as well kill yourself before someone else gets the chance. It's dangerous to be involved with someone like me, Liz."

Elizabeth averted her eyes to the stone below and looked back up when he lifted her chin and pressed a soft, teasing kiss to her lips. She never really thought about kissing him or what it would feel like, but now she knew that, not only were his lips softer than silk, but he was very experienced in all things kissing.

He knew that Elizabeth never would have guessed in a millennium the feelings that he shared towards her. They ran much deeper than a simple friendship to him. Of course, she was always the blind one who couldn't point out something if one put it directly in front of her, she was always the one who caught on to jokes last, and she was oblivious to anything involving love. Errico knew it had to have been the years spent watching her mother's ways that scared her to death of growing close to someone. It was also what he loved most about her - the act of chasing after something you couldn't get.

To him, that was the most enthralling.

"His name is Haytham Kenway. Never forget that name. Can you do that for me, amante?" Elizabeth nodded her head sharply, seeing as she was too shocked that he actually kissed her to really say anything at the moment. "Va bene." A tandem of shouts emerged from a block or two away and Errico quickly rose to his feet, helping her up as well. "I suggest you leave before things get ugly."

"Wait," Elizabeth stammered, relieved that she could find her voice in time, "what the hell are you? You never told me what happened!"

"Ask your father. He should know. It seems as if I have run out of time to answer questions." Errico then proceeded to lose all rationality and hoisted himself up the side of the old tavern beside of him. It looked like the work of a monkey, and Elizabeth gasped in both horror and surprise. The man had gone crazy!

"Wait! You can't leave me here!" Elizabeth squealed, stomping both of her feet dramatically.

Errico suddenly leaned over the side of the building that was shadowing her figure, held out an arm, and when she stared confusingly at him, said, "Are you coming or not? It's either climbing the rooftops or letting the drunkards rape, murder you, and chop up your dead corpse." Elizabeth obviously chose the former of the two decisions, since the latter had been happening in the area a lot lately to girls her age.

Coincidence? She'd rather think not. Better to be safe than sorry and six feet underground.

Elizabeth grabbed his hand and he hoisted her up with almost no effort on his part. Just as she climbed onto the edge of the roof, a sea of guards ran by them in a blind frenzy, shouting and spewing curses in a language she didn't understand.

"What the hell did you do, Errico?" Elizabeth whispered to him with an exasperated sigh.

He shrugged his shoulders and a familiar grin appeared on his face. "I may or may have not killed that man in the theatre..."

Elizabeth gasped as she quickly recoiled from his touch on her hand. "You murdered him!? What did he ever do to you?"

He put a hand over her mouth to silence her empty threats. "Shhhh, be quiet and I'll tell you what's going on."

When he removed the hand from her mouth, Liz folded her arms grudgingly over her chest and jutted out her lower lip. "I thought you were going to let my father explain."

"Better let me explain, since I know more about the subject we're going to be discussing."

"What changed your mind?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fifty guards chasing after you and I?"

"Me!?"

"Well, someone was bound to see us a moment ago." Errico winked before turning to the building adjacent to them; he leaped across the gap and landed gracefully on his feet. "Your turn," he yelled to her.

Elizabeth laughed dryly. "Ha ha, no. I'm gonna kill myself if I try it!"

"I'll catch you!"

Despite Elizabeth's fear of heights and despite herself, she backed up towards the other side of the building, readied her legs for impact, and bolted to where Errico was standing. As she reached the edge, she leaped forward as far as she could (which wasn't very far at all) and panicked when she didn't feel land beneath her feet. Elizabeth look up.

"Told you I'd catch you," Errico told the girl in a mocking tone. She looked down and saw the large gap between her and the ground and started writhing in fear of falling. The only thing separating her from crashing to the ground was Errico's hand, which she held on to as tightly as possible. Elizabeth pondered for a moment on how injured she would be if she fell. It was a two-story building, so, depending on the way she landed, a broken leg or arm would suffice for a lot of unwanted pain.

The man above her quickly saw the fear set in her face and, wrapping an arm around her waist, he hoisted her onto the roof in one swift motion. "Are you okay?" he asked, motioning to the small scratches on the knees of her dress.

Elizabeth looked down to examine herself. She sighed. "Well, my dress is ruined, thanks to you."

"If you wouldn't have started kicking the side of the building, maybe that wouldn't have happened," Errico argued.

"If you would have pulled me up, or better yet, if you wouldn't have made me jump, none of this would have happened!" Elizabeth shot back with an exasperated throw up of her hands.

Both actors stared at each other with daggers in their eyes. After a long silence, Errico spoke. "Maybe we should walk from here."

"Yeah." The girl rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to show you what I do on a daily basis, since you're so interested in me," Errico apologized.

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me - you're supposed to tell me what the hell is happening with you and the British man and why you killed that man!" She poked an accusing finger at him.

After Errico jumped down from the building and helped Elizabeth down, the long story began. But before he told her, he said, "I trust you with this information I am about to tell you. You tell nobody, is that clear? I'm only telling you this because it has a lot to do with your lineage, and I don't think anyone else will give a damn to let you know," to which she nodded her head in agreement.

As he explained to her the meaning behind the Templars and Assassins, Errico led the way to wherever he was taking her. He informed her that he was one of the former, and the British man her mother had been seen with was named Haytham Kenway. The man was also Errico's...teacher, if you will, on all things fighting and climbing. The actor had learned many things within the three years he had been with the group.

"So, why did you kill that man?" Elizabeth asked curiously as her brow knit together.

The Templar sighed. "It's difficult to explain unless you've been in on the plan for the past three months, but I'll try to explain it as best as I can." He took a deep breath and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. "The man that I murdered was named Jack Hansen. He was very notorious throughout the Templar order for turning on us and telling the King all of our plans for England. And, to make matters worse, he has been killing women around your age to lead us off of his trail, thinking that we wouldn't know it was him all along. You just wouldn't understand the history behind this man unless you were one of us."

Elizabeth looked down at her feet to let her friend's words sink in for a moment before turning back to him. "Why did you join this so-called 'Order'? And why did Haytham and all of the others have to come along to London? You were all they needed, right?"

"Well, to answer your first question - and nobody has ever heard this story before, so count yourself lucky - I remember the day when my father was murdered in cold blood right before my mother and I. I was seven years younger. At the time, I had no clue who had done it - I only remember the triangle-like marking on one of the men's arms." Errico stopped walking for a minute and turned to gaze at Elizabeth. "One of the men was your father. He was one of the men responsible for taking my father's life, and then my mother's life of suicide six months later."

"I don't-"

"You haven't seen him in those white robes only the Assassins are fit to wear?" Errico retorted.

Liz pressed her lips in to a thin line as she waited for him to continue speaking.

"Anyways, a year and a half after my mother's death, I decided to join the Templars and repay the Assassins for the death of my parents."

"Even my father?" Elizabeth asked, anger etching itself across her face for the billionth time that night.

"Now I've realized to forgive and forget. I've forgiven your father long ago - it's just forgetting that is the problem."

The woman lowered her head and brushed a stray blonde hair behind her ear. He simply looked to her with a clouded sympathy.

"And to answer your next question," the man said with intent to sway from the subject, which Liz was thankful for, "Haytham and the others have come to London because we will need backup when Hansen's men arrive to avenge their leader."

"Wh-"

"We're here," Errico sighed.

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "Where's '_here_'?"

"I just thought you might want to meet some friends of mine. Enemies of your family since the beginning of time." A playful smile appeared on his face when Elizabeth paled. "I'm only _kidding_! The war may have been shorter by a few years."

Elizabeth's head throbbed at the amount of information she had just received that made zero sense to her. She was confused beyond reason, despite her past assumptions that talking to Errico would clear up some questions she had. In reality, he had just invented many more. What the hell was all of this Assassin and Templar war he kept going on about? Who were those people, anyways? Why had her family not told her about any of this? Why was she learning about this now, of all times? Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera with the questions... She would have to talk to her father when the chance arrived.

Speaking of arrival, the two performers had done just that as they stepped up to a busy tavern called "Mallory & Melvin's", which was named that for _whatever_ reason. Errico pushed open the door and ushered Elizabeth in to the building and away from the chill of the night air. It was fairly warm in there, and many people were sitting at a bar with drinks in hand, laughing and dancing to a band playing upbeat music in the corner. It looked like the kind of place one would go when they needed a break from the stresses and demands of the outside world. Elizabeth chuckled when a woman danced by with a little boy in her arms, twirling to the music.

"This is a very family-friendly place for the things I suspect Templars _do_ here," the girl yelled over the crowd as Errico led her over to a small flight of stairs.

"Exactly," he responded and motioned for her to start climbing up to the second floor. "It's smart to be hidden in plain sight. Nobody will notice us over all of these people."

"Smart." Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the cheeriness in her friend's voice. Her smile disappeared when she reached the tops of the steps.

"We do what we can," he shrugged.

Elizabeth scanned the crowd for anybody she knew after feeling a few sets of eyes on her. She looked over to the far corner and locked gazes with none other than Haytham Kenway. He watched her like an eagle would watch its prey. She wanted to curl in on herself by the looks the other men seated at the table gave her, ranging from surprise, anger, and the infamous cold stare; but Haytham - he was something very different than the other men. It was obvious that he was the leader, yes, but he was nothing like the others. Liz could see why her mother was...sort of...attracted to him.

Before the actress could walk over there and smack Haytham's eyes of their sockets, Errico put a hand on her lower back and led her to the table. Her frown deepened, goosebumps rose on her arms, and she instinctively took a defensive stance, because she could see those men were nothing anyone wanted to mess with. They were dangerous.

"Master Kenway," Errico greeted with an incline of his head as the two approached the table.

"Who is this girl? She looks quite...familiar," Haytham asked; he cocked his head as he examined her more. Elizabeth couldn't hold her tongue any longer.

"I'm the daughter of the woman you're fucking," Liz replied, pushing Errico out of the way.

Haytham released a clipped laugh from his lips. "Ah, yes. I remember now. Daughter of the best Assassin in England. Your mother talks about you a lot, says you're nothing but a little brat. You also have quite the mouth on you."

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you." Elizabeth ground her teeth together and tried to cool her reddening face. She looked around to the other men and noticed that they weren't really paying attention. Confrontations like this must have happened a lot. "Why are you even with her?"

"That is a matter for adults, little girl. Go run along and play with your dolls, or whatever you children do these days." The man dismissed her with a wave of his hand and looked down at a small stack of papers Errico gave him.

"Awww," one of the men at the table announced, obviously intoxicated, "this girl may not be that bad, 'aytham. Give 'er a chance. She may be the best Templar in the worl' someday."

"No," Elizabeth protested, "I'm not looking to join the Templars. I don't even know what the hell any of this is."

"Then why are you here?" Haytham asked curiously, pausing from his paperwork to look up at her. Errico whispered something in his mentor's ear, and the older man pursed his lips. "Well, in that case, sit down..."

"Elizabeth," she corrected.

"Elizabeth," he continued, "and Thomas here will buy you a drink. Right, Thomas?"

"But why me-"

"Right... Thomas?"

The man named Thomas rolled his eyes and reached in to a pouch hanging on his belt.

"That's not necessary. I don't drink."

"Thank God," Thomas sighed, kicking his feet up on the table. He took a long swig of whatever was in that cup of his. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"That stuff smells really bad," she said, pursing her lips.

"It's 'pposed to, lil' girl. This is what real men drink."

"Yeah. What real men drink and die from alcohol poisoning before they're thirty," Liz replied, a deep frown carving in to her face.

Thomas laughed. "Nice one. You got a tongue on you, I give you 'at."

"Thank you."

{...}

The next morning, Elizabeth awoke to loud knocking at the door. She opened her eyes and recoiled against the light that flooded her vision. The last thing she remembered was Thomas buying her a few drinks, talking and having a few laughs with the men at the table, and then somehow she ended up on the living room sofa.

...What?

"Elizabeth! I know you're in there!" Her father's voice was a muffled yell. "I need to see your mother!"

The girl rose from her face-down position on the couch and, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, walked over to the door. Before she could even open it all the way, her father burst through the doorway and knocked her to the side.

"Hey! What's your problem?" Liz hissed as she slammed the door shut. "It's barely morning."

"It's noon, Elizabeth," her father corrected. "And our family has a bit of a problem." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Will you stop being so down all time? I never see you smile."

"That's because there's nothing to smile about," Liz grumbled.

"You're very wrong about that. Just wait until you meet a boy you really like, then we'll talk about 'nothing to smile about'."

"Anyways! What's the problem?"

The older man led her over to the couch where they both sat down. "Did you know about the man that was murdered at the theatre?" he asked her.

"...Yes," Elizabeth said, becoming confused as to where this was going.

"It seems as if the Temp - a group of men are pinning his death on me."

"And?" She acted as if he hadn't made a slip of the tongue.

"Not only are they looking for me, they are looking for you and your mother, which is why we have to leave London by tonight."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She was speechless.

"I suggest you pack your things, darling. We're moving to the colonies."

* * *

**A/N: Well, there's that. The introduction/prologue to A Change of Heart. Jesus, I hope I didn't make Haytham OOC. I never realized how difficult he was to write for until I actually wrote for him. I imagine, though, that he would pretty much do anything to make sure the Templars were three steps ahead of the Assassins, so just imagine how he felt when an assassin's wife came waltzing up to him and pretty much threw herself on to him. Perfect, right? Kind of like how he was at the end of AC3... I hate that version of him. Ugh.**

**(Any time there is a song at the beginning of the chapter, it means I was inspired by that song for the chapter. Just thought you should know.)  
**

**And don't worry, Connor will come in next chapter. I just wanted to take the time to introduce some of the characters properly, so excuse me if this is really boring. It won't be really soon. ;D  
**

**Also, I was inspired to make this after I finished Assassin's Creed 3 - and was outraged that Connor didn't have a fiery female personality to match his own - and a story on fanfiction (it's called "Dance with the Devil" by Winged'Pollution. Look it up; it's amazing, and if you like it, tell that I sent you!). So, yeah. Here ya go.  
**

**Comments, questions, fangirling? Review and tell me what you think! :D  
**


	2. Unexpected Encounters

**Thank you for the reviews:**

**Loc Dog**  
**SleepEnchanter**

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{...}_  
_

_I was the dark before the dawn _  
_The voice without a song _  
_The words that came out wrong _  
_But you heard me all along _

_Untangle me  
From these feelings trapped inside _  
_Way out past the smoke and fire is where I'll be _  
_I've been waiting such a long time for someone to come along _  
_Untangle me _  
_  
I'm on the inside looking outside _  
_It's the only place I've been _  
_Hesitating, suffocating _  
_But then you let me in_

_- Untangle Me by The Maine  
_

{...}

Elizabeth sat in her room, drowning in a cold sweat from the nausea rising in her stomach yet again. She was just glad that there was nothing more to throw up from constantly doing said action the past three days she had been on the ship.

Liz couldn't remember the last time she had been on the open water. And with that, she didn't remember how sea sick she had always gotten. She really thought she was going to enjoy the ride, though, but her stomach said differently.

Her father walked in to the cabin a short while after with a wet cloth and a cup of water in hand. "This trip lasts at least two months. You have to eat something before then, but hopefully you'll get over this soon." He sighed. "When you were little, after about a week of this, you eventually got used to the motions," he informed her, laying the cold cloth on her forehead and handing her the tall glass of water.

Liz was thankful for her father's kindness. The two had never gotten to bond properly because of her father's work, so it was nice to know that he still cared, which he really expressed when he held her hair away from her face and rubbed her back as another wave of sickness crashed through her.

{...}

It was the thirty-second day on the ship and Elizabeth had finally conquered whatever ailment had decided to attack her the first two weeks on the open sea. She could finally walk around without getting sick to her stomach anymore, which was good, but all in all, she just couldn't wait to get off of this wooden death trap and on to land again.

By the time the actress had woken up the sun was just starting to set, so she quickly hurried up to the deck to get a glimpse of what she expected Heaven to look like. The air was always a little above freezing on most days - the constant Autumn breeze wasn't helping either.

"Aye lil' lady!" Elizabeth turned around at the sound of one of the men's voices she had met on her travels. Andrew, was it? "Are you finally awake?"

"Not yet, but I'm getting there. I'm very tempted to go back to my cabin and lie down." She scrunched up her nose when he reached forward to pull her to him and ruffle up her tangled hair; Elizabeth swatted his hand away. "And you're not really helping, Andrew."

"I'm here to piss all of the newcomers off, but don't worry, you guys'll be gone tomorrow anyways," Andrew said, laying his elbow on her much shorter shoulder.

Elizabeth raised and eyebrow. "Father never told me about any of this. Where are we going?"

"Alexander decided that, instead of going to Boston like you two had originally planned, he was going to cut the trip short and send a ship to come and fetch you guys at the nearest port, which we'll be getting to in about eighteen hours."

The teen sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Why does he never tell me anything? Why does nobody ever tell me anything?"

"No offense, but you don't seem like the type that would really listen, lass."

"Okay, that kind of offended me, I'm not going to lie. Just saying "no offense" doesn't make it any less harsh."

"I'm just tellin' you the truth... and sometimes the truth hurts." He paused for a minute and turned to look at her. "Arguin' wasn't why I came over here."

"Well...why did you?"

"Me an' the boys were talkin', and we just wanted to know if you would to have a few drinks with us. Think of it as a going away party."

"Listen," she turned to face him, "I may be a lot of things, but I'm not stupid. A room full of men twice my size, drunken off their asses is not a situation I should be getting in to."

A burly, unshaven man walked up behind Andrew and patted him roughly on the back. "So this is that one girl everyone's talkin' about, eh?" He surveyed her through squinted eyes. "I seen better. 'Course, I like my gals real thick and round. I guess she'll have to-"

Elizabeth held up a hand to silence him; she was starting to feel sick again. Was he talking about women or meat? "Okay, listen Mr. Pervert, I don't want to hear your demented preferences in women, okay? I don't think you want me throwing up all over your shoes."

"I have a name, girl."

"And I don't give two shits. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Not now! We just got this night started. And I think you need to know your place around here."

Elizabeth mockingly gasped. "Oh no, what will you do to me? Feed me to your minions? Throw me overboard?"

Before she could say another word, her feet were pulled out from under her and she was thrown over a man's shoulder.

"I hope you're not afraid of heights, lass."

...

"You want me to climb up the mast? In this?" Elizabeth motioned to her nightgown and shoeless feet.

"That's what all the new crew members do."

"I'm not a-"

"If you're on this ship, you're a crew member. Now," the burly man named Fargo waved a hand towards the netting, "get to climbing."

"I'm not climbing the mast, you crazy douche!"

Fargo drew his sword from its scabbard and threateningly pointed the tip at her throat. "Some climbing'll do good for ya, lass. See what it's like to be that dad a' yours."

Elizabeth glared daggers at the man and the crew members standing around her, catcalling as she pulled up the front of her nightgown and readily stuffed it into the top of her undergarment.

"Can I at least use the rope ladder?"

"That would make it too easy, now wouldn't it? Sorry, but you gotta use the traditional way."

Elizabeth huffed. "There's not anything to climb on!"

Fargo approached her and tilted her head all the way up by a finger under her chin. "You have to really pay attention to your surroundings, lass. Look for the objects that stick out that you can grab on to."

The actress leaned over to whisper, "Are you one of those people like my father?"

"Not exactly. Think of me as an... ally of sorts. I travel like Alexander does, though." He nodded to the trunk of wood towering over them. "Now get to climbing."

Elizabeth sighed and pouted, but did as she was told. Taking to heart what Fargo had told her, she frequently looked for any bars or rope she could use to reach the balcony at the top.

Thirty minutes later, she was two-thirds of the way up and exhausted as hell. She looked down to the deck and saw that everyone had left. "Can I come d-" Liz had to clutch on to the rope she was currently climbing when the ship suddenly rocked to the side, and stayed in a constant side-to-side motion for what seemed like forever.

Elizabeth felt her hands starting to fail her; the longer she held on to the mast, the faster an aching cramp would rise in each of her fingers, causing a large lapse in strength. The ship was suddenly jolted upright and she couldn't take it anymore. Liz had not a strong muscle on her body; her mother had taught her that a noble woman was to be feminine, but strong enough to withstand frequent beatings from an unlucky suitor; thin, but also more shapely than an hourglass; restrained, but ready at any time of day for sex with anyone her suitor chose (be it him or one of his friends); mainly, all for the cause of being alive for no reason but bowing to a man's every whim and having heaps of babies within a life time to carry on his "legacy", and never doing "men's work". It was the worst advice she had ever listened to, which she had been doing for seventeen years. And she dreaded when her mother would start choosing suitors for her when she turned eighteen. Her mother didn't want to rush her in to an early marriage...she just wanted to rush her in to an early marriage. Whether they was five or fifty - if both people were not in love, or at least did not agree to eloping, it was an "early marriage" in Elizabeth's mind.

The actress felt the hardness of the wood under her before she actually started to feel the pain radiating from the middle of her back. She struggled to get a full intake of breath as another crippling wave of pain traveled down her spine and out through the tips of her toes. It felt as if someone had dropped a house on her back, stomped on it with nail-imbedded soles in the shoes, then played a melody on her spine. Liz also noticed the tug of pain in her ribs and the pounding ache in her left thigh. A bell sounded in the distance, and it took a lot to actually distinguish between that and the ringing on her ears.

"When I get up, Fargo," she hissed through gritted teeth, "you're fucking dead."

"Oh, am I, now?" Said pirate was looming over her with his arms crossed and a lazy grin on his face. "Are you okay, lass?"

Her face twisted into a grimace when she rolled on to her side and struggled to steady her breathing. "I think I broke a rib or two."

"A fall from that high up could do it to a person, especially a little puny sapling like you. I'm surprised it didn't kill you like it should have." Fargo pursed his lips and surveyed the deck with a lack of interest, hearing the swords clashing and angry threats spewing about the mens' mothers. "You may wanna get up; the ship is kinda under attack."

"Can you, oh, I don't know, help me?!" She, too, could smell the overwhelming stench of blood, sweat, and gory death all around her. It overwhelmed her senses and she involuntarily gagged.

"I don't know, can I?" Fargo laughed. Immediately straightening out his grin once seeing the pain she was in, he leaned down and wrapped an arm under the back of her knees and one under her shoulder blades. "Yep, you sure did break one of your ribs, lass. I can feel it right now. Alexander's gonna skin me alive."

"For good purpose, you old quim."

The two made it below deck fairly unscathed, met with just a few ducks from the occasional sword on Fargo's part and Liz's obvious injury. He carried her over to where a short, older man with greying hair stood, bandaging up a young man's calf.

"Marco?" Fargo asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. The doctor turned around and sighed once he saw what the younger man was carrying in his arms.

"What did you do to this one, Fargo?" Marco helped his patient up and motioned for the crew member to place Elizabeth on the table. She winced slightly from the pressure placed on her right leg as he sat her upright on the hard examining table. "What did I tell you about the young ones? You have to be gentle."

Fargo chuckled under his breath and clapped the doctor on the shoulder. He said, "I'm afraid that isn't what happened, dear brother. This little clumsy girl fell from the mast-"

"After you told me to climb it!"

"-and she may have broken a few ribs." Fargo finished off his sentence with a sharp glare in the girl's direction. She simply waved off the silent threat and rolled her eyes. Despite his frightening height, the masses of scars covering his face and chest, and the wide range of weapons on him, he was harmless!

...Yeah, completely harmless to a damn grizzly bear, a pack of hungry, genetically enhanced wolves, or saber-toothed tiger, if the latter was still around.

"If you move your hands any lower, I will have no choice but to castrate you," Elizabeth warned when the doctor's "harmless" hand over her heart started to move lower than she would have liked.

"I'm a doctor-"

"Yeah. A doctor who works on a ship full of men. You probably can't even remember the last time you've seen a shirtless woman."

"I also need to move lower so I can see if you've cracked or broken and of your ribs in the front." Elizabeth huffed, but eventually complied as the doctor moved a cold hand between her cleavage. She didn't even notice Alexander enter and shake his head disappointingly in the doorway.

"If you really need a woman that bad, Marco," Alexander told the old man, who quickly stepped away from Elizabeth with a look of horror on his face, "I bet one of the men would be happy to borrow one of my daughter's dresses. Just be sure to keep your eyes closed and you won't be able to tell the difference." Elizabeth let a chuckle escape through her lips, even though she kept her usual stoic expression plastered to her face. At least Liz knew who she got her dry, sarcastic humor from.

Her father's usual crisp white robes were splattered with what she suspected to be blood - she could not distinguish between what blood was whose - and were in scary condition with the large rip in the side. There must have been an artist on the ship who repeatedly flung deep red paint at him, because that is what it greatly resembled, especially on his face. He pulled his bloody hood down and brushed some stray dark hairs away from his face that had fallen out of the black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Alexander walked over to her and, after kissing her on the forehead in either greeting or pity she couldn't tell, pressed a bloody hand to the middle of her back.

"Damn," she hissed, breathing in through her teeth.

"My, my, Lizzie; what did you do this time?" The assassin pressed his hand more firmly on a few particularly bumpy spots to confirm his suspicion. She immediately arched her back and recoiled from his hand with a cry of protest, quickly rising from the table to avoid any further incidents like that. She cradled her back with both hands and walked to her cabin. "Just what I suspected," Alexander sighed, "someone is going to be maimed when I learn who was responsible for this."

It had been about six months since Connor had obtained his assassin robes. The snow had finally melted away, flowers had bloomed beautifully in its place, the air grew hot and humid - which is when the thick robes were a large nuisance - and now the air was chilled, as was the breeze that blew by him and cooled his feverish cheeks. He pulled back his hood once arriving near the Homestead and immediately took to the trees.

Elizabeth was having a little more trouble than Connor. She constantly had the advice that Fargo told her fresh in her mind, yet she couldn't, for the life of her, reach the top of the tree she was attempting to climb. It was the perfect size and had a great amount of "things that stuck out", or knots in the bark.

The girl's ribs were somewhat healed from her latest fall, so she wasn't really careful at all about not falling again. Not even the pain clustering in her left thigh could stop her.

"What are you doing!?" a voice called from somewhere above her. Elizabeth pursed her lips in confusion and, dropping her hand from the tree, looked to the trees in search of the strange man.

Liz shrieked when he dropped down in front of her and leaned against the tree she had previously used as a jungle gym. She immediately noticed his dark skin and grew perturbed when seeing that his robes were the same as her father's. His hair was the color of cocoa and stopped below his ears, with a small braid at his temple. She laughed curtly and turned on the ball of her foot to walk away. Men weren't really her forte.

When she got a few feet away from him, Connor followed after her. "Hey, wait!" he said, meeting her small strides easily. "The Homestead's that way."

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and turned to face him with a dramatic whip of her hair. "You shouldn't be so eager to talk to some girl you just met in the woods. What if I were to throw you down right now and murder you?"

"You don't look like the murdering type." The glint in her eyes made the young assassin take a small step away from her and place a hand on the hilt of his dagger. It got even creepier when she grinned at him in a way that sent shivers down his spine, the malicious intent clear in her eyes. "...Or maybe you do," he said after a long pause.

"Looks can be deceiving," she shrugged, instantly returning to her bored, stoic nature as she examined her fingernails. "I really need a manicure," she muttered.

Connor was pretty much at a loss for words. For the five minutes he had known this girl, she had managed to make him laugh, grow extremely confused, then fear for his life. And he completely didn't understand her mood swings whatsoever.

Elizabeth eventually allowed Connor to walk her back to the Homestead since she had no idea how to get back, but she constantly felt his eyes on her. By the time they got there, she would have a large whole burned through her middle.

"Listen kid, I really appreciate you walking me back to my father, but do you have to stare at me? I mean, you've probably seen twelve women within your whole lifetime, and none like me I'm positive, but damn. Cut a girl a break."

He had never met a girl like her before, that was sure. Especially one with such a colorful vocabulary; it wasn't like a lady in his village to say anything out of line, especially curse words. "Don't flatter yourself. I've seen better."

Liz almost burst with an extremely large cringe that was dying to show itself. Self-confidence was one of her many downfalls. "You can't fool me; I know you were looking at my tits. Don't deny it." Connor did a double take and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again when he couldn't rattle his brain to find a good enough retort. "I can already tell we won't be getting along," Elizabeth sighed, relief flooding through her once the large mansion came in to view. She had to force herself not to run over and jump off the cliff five feet away from the home.

When the two teens walked inside of the mansion, Elizabeth was taken aback at how...old the inside looked compared to the outside. The furniture looked ready to fall in on itself at any moment, an inch of dust covered everything, and it was clear that the home wasn't decorated for the eighteenth century.

"This place is...not what I'm used to, that's for sure," Elizabeth muttered.

"It's not much, but it's home." The actress looked up when an older voice spoke. There was an old man with even darker skin than the boy, leaning against the doorway with a cane in hand. "Name's Achilles Davenport." He tipped down his hat in greeting. "You must be Elizabeth."

"Yes. Elizabeth Whiting...sir," she replied with a small curtsy. She suspected that he was pretty much in charge of the land and anything that happened on it, so the last thing she wanted was to land on his bad side.

Alexander strolled in with a content grin on his face. "Ah, Connor Kenway. It's nice to finally meet you." He passed her up with a pat on the back and greeted the boy named Connor. As they shook hands, he placed a strong hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled knowingly. "I was thrilled when I got word that a boy joined the Brotherhood so young. I was especially surprised to hear who your...family was. I'm terribly sorry to hear about your mother, and my daughter and I will help any way we can on your mission."

Elizabeth snorted. "Yeah, I doubt that. I have better things to do than help a charity case."

"Says someone who can barely climb a tree. The only thing you would be able to succeed in doing is...well, killing us," Connor retorted.

"Oh, ow! That - that hurt. Excuse me while I cry in a corner and think about how bad an Indian with no mother made me feel." Connor took a small step towards her and reached for one of his throwing knives, hatred for the girl before him burning even greater in his chest that, at the thought of his mother, felt like a lead weight had been laid on top of it.

"Elizabeth," Alexander hissed, grabbing his daughter by the arm when she attempted to lunge for the boy. "That's enough."

"He started it-"

"I don't care who started what. He lives here with Achilles, so we are also his guests. I thought your mother would have taught you better."

"You wouldn't know, considering you're never fucking there."

Alexander's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Young-"

"Connor," Achilles hurriedly interjected, realizing the outcome of the current conversation, "can you take Elizabeth's bags to her room upstairs? She'll be staying ihe one across from yours."

Connor let his hand slip back down to his side and walked over to Elizabeth's bags, all without taking his dark eyes off of her.

"Why are my...wait - we're staying here?" Elizabeth asked to nobody in particular.

"Yes," Alexander hissed, his hand clenching tighter around his daughter's arm as he dragged her in to the next room.

"I don't want to stay here," she protested, green eyes filmed over with anger.

"You have no say in the matter."

"Why can't we stay in an inn at Boston?"

The assassin released his daughter's arm after a pregnant pause. "They'll be looking for us there."

Elizabeth huffed and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, secretly massaging one of her biceps. "Fine. But I don't wanna be near him." She nodded towards Connor as he walked inside with her bundle of bags stacked in front of his face.

"Oh great," the young assassin muttered, hearing the family's conversation as he was in the middle of doing as his mentor asked. There was a lot of yelling from that Elizabeth girl, composed mostly of words that made him blush a crimson red. That "thing" had at least five large bags that had taken two whole trips to get them from the front door to "her room". Which was right across from his.

Connor didn't know how long he could survive living with her; they were going to end up killing each other before the week was over. Hell, they both had a hypothetical knife at each others' throats and they had just met two hours ago.

Now he knew why there were hardly any women in his village.

_(Later that day)_

After Elizabeth had changed in to one of her casual dresses (which was pretty much one of her fancy dresses without the corset and fancy shoes) and slipped on some slippers, she walked in to the kitchen where her father stood in those same white robes, leaning on the counter and eating an apple.

"Do they have any more of those?" she whispered to him quietly, trying not to wake Achilles, who had fallen asleep in the other room. He nodded his head and motioned towards a bowl of fruits in the middle of the counter. She grabbed an orange from the variety of colors and started peeling it. "Where's Connor?"

"Hunting."

"Hunting?"

"Yes. _Animals_. He's taking them to his tribe, Lizzie. I think he's upset because of what you said."

"Or me in general. Of course, that's his fault."

The girl pursed her lips in thought and expected a small hint of guilt to rumble in her gut, then nothing came. She was secretly upset at how calloused she had become to everything (especially emotions) ever since...

"Do you want to know why your mother and I parted ways?" her father asked, twirling what was left of his apple in his fingertips.

"It was because of Melinda's death..."

"You've never heard the whole story, then. Yes, your mother and I couldn't deal with the loss of your sister, but in the end, that wasn't what drove us apart. It was your best interest in mind. See, I could tell a large difference in you after it happened. You were only thirteen when she died - a terrible age to have to deal with death - and I couldn't see you suffer like that. It still hurts because I can see it in your eyes, how lost and pained you still are. Elizabeth, I haven't seen you smile in four years."

A dry, cold laugh sounded in her throat before she could stop it. "She was only _eight_. What did you expect me to do? 'Oh, my sister just died, I'm gonna be all cheery and happy about it.'" She popped a slice of the orange in to her mouth and focused on its tangy flavor instead of the angry tears burning the corners of her eyes.

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._

_You're ugly when you cry._

_Crying is a weakness. You don't want to be weak; you have to be strong._

_You're going to let your guard down when you cry. Don't let your guard down now. You'll only get hurt._

_Melinda never cried..._

_Stop being a fucking baby!_

Elizabeth chanted the phrases to herself while her father contemplated silently what she said.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I shouldn't have brought it up." Alexander pushed away from the counter and straightened out his robes. "After Connor gets back, the three of us are heading to Boston. Connor and I have to have a talk with Samuel Adams."

Elizabeth threw up her hands, all thoughts on the conversation before forgotten, as were the tears. She never cried. "Why can't I stay here, then?"

The father returned to his cheery self and ruffled the top of Elizabeth's hair. "You need to witness the family business, my love!"

"I don't think-"

"Alexander!" Connor's voice echoed through the mansion.

Elizabeth turned around just as Connor, who was adjusting his robes, walked in to the kitchen. She never understood what was with her father and Connor and their robes. They treated those things like a girl would her virginity.

"Hey, Mr. Dickway," she greeted coolly. He said nothing, just glared at her with a look that could make the devil cry. "Get it? 'Cause Dickway kinda sounds like Kenway?" More staring. "Okay, buddy, you're creeping me out."...Even more staring. "In my defense, you're extremely easy to make fun of!"

"If you couldn't tell, I am not really in the mood for your jokes," he replied, coldness lingering in his tone.

Elizabeth frowned and furrowed her brow. "Yeah, people usually aren't. I think they're funny, personally," she scoffed, looking of to the side when her father walked in, Achilles trailing in behind him.

"Wow," Alexander drawled, "you two have been in the same room for more than two seconds and haven't killed each other yet. A record." Achilles chuckled.

"Well, we'd better leave now if we have a chance of making it to Boston by nightfall," Achilles informed the three.

Elizabeth groaned, but followed the three men as they walked to the front door. Connor put out a hand to stop her. He raised an eyebrow and motioned to her choice of clothing. She shrugged, pushed him to the side, and strolled out the door to the carriage that was sitting at the end of the steps.

"She is charming," Connor muttered to Alexander as they, too, walked to the carriage.

"You get used to it," the older assassin told the boy with a pat on the shoulder.

Connor cringed when he saw the girl fold her arms over her chest and jut out a hip. She looked over to the door, then back at him. With a sigh of defeat, he held open the door for her as she got in and then scooted in beside her. Achilles and Alexander were seated comfortably on the opposite seat, chuckling to themselves at the sight before them. Liz was pressed as close as she could get to the wall next to her, legs crossed and hands folded neatly on her lap like a noble, yet the nasty scowl that spread on her face when Connor spread out and almost touched her leg with his contradicted her graceful body language.

It was quite hilarious.

"Ah, they must still be in that "cooties" phase," Achilles joked to Alexander.

"It seems like it," the younger of the two laughed.

Elizabeth executed her famous arm cross, eye roll, and sigh. "At least I don't traipse around with anything that has a di-"

"Do you have to be so vulgar all the time?" Connor interrupted, turning towards her.

"Yes, I do. It gets your point across better," the actress retorted in a mocking tone.

"It is disgusting. None of the women in my village-"

"Considering there were only, like, six women in your village, you don't have enough concrete evidence to really put my down." She turned to look at him for the first time on their trip. "For all you know, every girl in England could talk just like I do."

"I never wish to visit England, then." He always knew she had an accent, he could just never find out what kind it was. Now he knew, at least.

Alexander smirked. "You'd be surprised, Connor. There are beautiful women there."

"If _she_ is representing the beautiful women in England, no thank you."

...

Twelve hours later, two grumpy teenagers, two fed up adults later, and the group had finally made it to Boston. And what was the first thing Elizabeth did?  
Well, what anybody her age would do.

She started a riot...

* * *

**A/N: Yay! Second chapter is done. So, I won't keep you long because it is two in the morning and I am exhausted, but I just want to say some things.**

**1. Thankyouthankyouthankyou for the reviews and faves and alerts and all the jazz for last chapter! I got an extremely long review and I wanted to reply to it so bad, but I sadly couldn't, and it made me upset. So, yeah, if you want me to reply to your reviews (which I always do) then log in, or tell me where I can reply or whatever.  
**

**2. So, I don't know about you, but I didn't get enough teenage!Connor, and I've been dying to know what the HELL he was doing for those five plus years during the time skip. And voila, this story was born. I find it very realistic that he finds a sassy girl to match his level of sexiness, they go on awesome adventures together, they kill together, and BAM! she's pregnant and doesn't come back until after AC3 ends. Is that just me? Yes? Okay.  
**

**3. Next chapter. So many crazy shenanigans will go on, including the riot Elizabeth has just started. (And maybe some Templar interference..? Maybe Haytham, Charles, Thomas..?)  
**

**4. I think there's a ghost in my house. I keep hearing weird noises and shit and it's scaring me.  
**

**Bye. **

**Wait, water you doing? Be nice and leave a review on your way out! Tell me suggestions, give comments, ask questions. Thanks! :D  
**


	3. Kidnappings Aren't Sexy

A heavy rain fell later that day. Cold, vengeful droplets pelted Elizabeth's skin and made her clothes and hair soaking wet, but she loved the feeling of the raindrops falling down her cheeks. Loved the way her clothes stuck to her like a second skin and her short hair glued itself to the back of her neck and the sides of her face.

She ambled through the streets of Boston, not in any hurry to get back to her father, or Achilles, or that boy she kept forgetting the name of. Right at that moment, Elizabeth focused on nothing but the sweet smell of the air and the wetness against her skin. She felt like she was connecting with her sister again, as they would always play in the rain when they were younger. Melinda always did love the rain.

For a moment, Elizabeth could almost hear Melinda shouting her name, asking her to play just like they did when they were children. She bowed her head and prayed that God would make Melinda's death easier on her. It had been four years. She was ready to let it go.

"You're going to catch a cold if you stay out here too long," a familiar voice said, snapping the lonely girl out of her thoughts.

"That's not really my top worry right now, with all due respect," Elizabeth replied quietly to none other than Thomas Hickey. She was actually the most fond of him, out of all of the other men she had met the night before she had to travel to America. Never mind his frequent drinking problem and over-fondness of women. "How did you find me?"

"Haytham has eyes and ears everywhere, Elizabeth. Of course, when you have a father like yours, it doesn't take much to track you down. He heard you were in Boston and wanted me to come get you for whatever reason." He waved a hand in disinterest.

Elizabeth, who was not watching where her feet were taking her during the conversation, suddenly started when a large mud puddle came in to contact with, well, the whole right side of her body. Her foot had tripped itself on the change of solid to liquid, so the only thing Elizabeth could do was fall. She thanked God that she didn't land on the leg she had injured on the ship.

Thomas, who was on her left side, bellowed with laughter so great that his stomach began to pain.

Elizabeth lay there for a moment, glaring up at Thomas with a look of pure hatred, yet he continued to mock her. She growled low in her throat and took the hand he reached out towards her, only to be rejected when she started to get up, causing her to slip and fall again.

"Damn it, Thomas, this isn't funny! It's too slick for me to get up by myself, so help before I pull you in here with me," Elizabeth snarled.

Thomas scoffed, the urges of laughter dying down. "You couldn't pull me down if you tried," he challenged, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Get over her and we'll find out."

"Haytham would murder me if I walked in covered in mud as you are. He's probably goin' to murder you as well."

"I'm not going to see that man ever again, so you have no worries."

"He doesn't want to see you as much as your mother does." There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, and Elizabeth simply rolled her eyes.

"I have nothing to say to that woman," she confessed in a venom-drenched tone. "That was the last time I'll give anybody a second chance at trust."

Thomas walked over to Elizabeth and lifted her out of the mud with a hand holding each of her arms. She nodded to him in a silent 'thank you' and started walking away from him.

"Your mother is actually a nice woman," Thomas yelled to her, "even if she is a little confused. You can't blame her, though. Losing a child is always hard, no matter how long ago it was."

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat for a moment, and the world around her seemed to spin for a few seconds. She stopped walking and buried her face into her hands.

How did he know?

As if reading her mind he said, "Whenever your mother drinks, she tends to tell things nobody needs to know. It's quite funny, really."

"That's my mother for you."

"Speaking of your mother, she seems to like Haytham. Though I can't say how much he fairs her."

"My mother always did like the troublesome ones. Actually, she always did like anything with dick."

Thomas snorted. "If only you were a few years older...and your hair was a bit longer."

"I'm almost eighteen." Elizabeth looked up at him with a hidden grin. "Nothing about my weight?"

"Why? You're a healthy size. Though I can see why some men and women might be turned off; they like - and like to be - little twigs, whereas I want a woman who can ride-"

"Thomas," Elizabeth interjected, stifling back laughter so hard that her face was turning red.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"This is the second time we've met. I don't need to hear about your sexual preferences."

"So you can dish it out, but you can't take it, eh?" He nodded his head. "Makes sense."

She just wished the other men she was about to see could be as carefree as him. And dear God, was he hilarious. Elizabeth hadn't felt the need to laugh in years. That crossed out the fact that he wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever seen, but he sure wasn't ugly.

The rest of the walk was spent making small talk about the past few weeks - what they had been doing, how the weather was, things like that.

"Why are you men here in Boston?" Elizabeth suddenly asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

"Errico told you about the man he killed in the theatre, right?" He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She nodded her head. "Apparently, he has some friends higher up on the social and military ladders than we originally thought. And those men are smart enough to see through the façade we made."

"What's going to happen next?"

"That's what we are going to find out."

"What do I have do with all of this?"

"A lot." Thomas turned away from her and began to walk towards, what she was guessing was, the Templars' meeting place. It was a regular tavern on the outside, and the inside was no different. It very much resembled 'Mallory and Melvin's' back in London. Right down to the steps leading to the second floor.

"Elizabeth, Thomas. We've been waiting on you two," Haytham greeted them with an innocent smile, and he raised his tankard in the air and nodded his head.

"_Mo ghrá! Conas a chaill mé tú amhlaidh_," Brigid squealed, then rose from her seat next to Haytham.

"Of course," Elizabeth mumbled under her breath. She was already perturbed at her mother, and she hadn't even said a word to her yet.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie. It's a bad habit. Don't worry about that last sentence, it's not important," Brigid said. She pulled Elizabeth into her arms and kissed her on the forehead. They pulled away after a moment.

"Ah, Lizzie. How cute," Haytham commented. "I think I may just have to call you that every now and then."

"If you want to be without a head," Elizabeth shrugged and looked down at her nails.

"Ah, murder. That would be the only thing you're useful for."

Elizabeth felt as if a wave of deja vu swept over her. She furrowed her eyebrows and remembered what the boy...Connor...had said. _"The only thing you would be able to succeed in doing is...well, killing us."_

She suddenly remembered his name. Connor...Kenway.

Shit.

"Your son thinks the same thing," Elizabeth whispered low enough for only Haytham to hear. The knuckles holding his tankard turned a bloodless white, and he glared at her with a malicious look. She took her mother's hand in her own and avoided his gaze.

"Elizabeth, um, this is...Haytham Kenway," Brigid said, tugging her daughter over to where he sat. "Haytham, this is my daughter, Elizabeth. She's an ill-tempered girl, but you'll get used to it."

"I know, Brigid. We've crossed paths before." Haytham grinned and brought his tankard to his thin lips.

"Oh...that's-" Brigid paused, not knowing what to say next. She pressed her lips in to a thin line.

Elizabeth patted Brigid on the back, noting how uncomfortable she was. "I don't very much fair him, Mother."

The older woman leaned over to her daughter and whispered, "He may not seem like the nicest man, but he softens up once you get to know him."

Elizabeth pulled away and circled the table to find a seat. She ended up beside Thomas, and he pulled her down by the arm so he could whisper, "No he doesn't," in her other ear. She snorted and patted him on the shoulder, then sat down next to him.

Elizabeth looked over and immediately noticed Brigid and Haytham's hands intertwined. The mother had sat down beside him and was speaking quietly to him, though it was hard to tell if he was listening or if he was mulling over something in his head. They would both glance over at her every once in a while then continue talking.

Elizabeth wanted to puke. Her mother had plenty of terrible men under her belt, but Mr. Haytham Kenway topped the charts. Not to mention that he was in the midst of a secret cult filled with men just like him - Thomas not included - who "murdered and manipulated for peace," as Elizabeth liked to say.

"...So, as I was saying, Elizabeth," Thomas said loudly enough for Elizabeth to turn and look at him. "You have a terrible attention span, ya know."

Elizabeth shook her head and looked back over at him. "Sorry, what were you talking about?"

"You were the one who wanted me to talk about it...War stories."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Continue."

"As I was _saying, _my men and I were surrounded by at least a hundred enemy soldiers."

"It was more like ten, Thomas," Charles interrupted with a chuckle. "Don't tell this poor girl lies."

Thomas glared at his friend through squinted eyes. "It enhances the story, cock robin."

Elizabeth bit her lip to hold back the laughter boiling in her throat. She coughed to mask a chuckle that had slipped by.

"Let's not fight right now, especially over something so childish," Elizabeth told the two men.

Thomas raised his tankard in appreciation. "Smart girl." Then he downed the rest of the alcohol in one gulp.

Elizabeth blinked. She'll never understand how he did that.

"Brigid," Haytham spoke up in an impatient voice, "you and Elizabeth are sure to be hungry. Why don't you two go to the market and fetch some food?" He placed a small bag of coins on the table in front of the mother.

He gave Brigid a pointed look when she raised an eyebrow, then she took the bag off the table and ushered Elizabeth over to the stairs. The younger girl rolled her eyes and languidly rose from her seat, throwing Thomas an annoyed glance.

"Well, I probably won't be back. So, bye, all of you. Probably forever," Elizabeth said, her voice monotonous. "Let's go, Mom. There's obviously something evil going on since your boyfriend kicked us out."

Brigid hushed her daughter and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her down the steps.

"Bye, Elizabeth!" Thomas' voice echoed down the stairs and entered the girl's ears, making her hum in satisfaction at the slurred edges of his voice.

. . .

The walk to the market was awkward and silent, mother and daughter thinking of something to talk about.

Brigid sighed and folded her hands in front of her. "It is an ugly day, isn't it?"

"No," Elizabeth hissed. "It's beautiful."

Her mother laughed, a light, airy sound. "You were always one to love the rain. Melinda did, too."

The girl looked up at her mother. "Do you ever think about her?"

"All the time," Brigid whispered. She wiped away oncoming tears with the tip of her sleeve.

Elizabeth turned her head when a commotion broke out in an alleyway, then cried out when she was pushed to the ground. A small boy ran ahead, carrying her mother's money in his hand. She climbed to her feet and started chasing after him even though her mother was calling for her.

He turned a corner off of the main path and Elizabeth was quick to follow. For the next couple of minutes, it was a game of cat and mouse between Elizabeth and the boy. She noticed that he was running much too slow, almost as if he was wanting her to catch him. The small boy led her through a street that looked to be vacant and then entered an abandoned house with no door. She followed after him.

It didn't look much like a house, with only half of the four walls still standing. There wasn't a roof to shield her from a new downpour of rain.

Elizabeth stopped when she saw the familiar white robes and dark skin enter from a gap in the wall across from her. They stared at each other for a moment, Connor equally confused. The little girl that he had followed was nowhere to be found, neither was the boy.

"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth asked him, stepping into the dim light of the setting sun.

Shadows fell around the house. A man stepped into view, clad in a full-length black robe. His face was shadowed over by the hood that covered the top half of his face.

"Grab them," the man ordered.

Connor grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and unsheathed his tomahawk.

"Don't," Elizabeth hissed, yanking him back. "You'll just make things worse."

The men circled them then, grabbed Elizabeth by the waist and pulled her into the shadows. Connor wasn't lucky enough to escape them either. He had only been training for a year, and it wasn't enough for men who had years of training under their belts. By the time he knew it, Connor's tomahawk was knocked out of his hand and he was brought to his knees by a strike to the middle of his back with the hilt of a sword. They led him away in the direction that they took Elizabeth, not bothering with chains or shackles to tie him with.

{...}

Elizabeth sighed and leaned against the corner of the carriage that they had been riding in for about an hour. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. The constant motion was making her a bit sick to her stomach.

"I have a feeling I know who these guys are," she muttered, looking at Connor from the corner of her eyes. He was leaning against the carriage just like she was, though he was in the opposite corner after noticing her discomfort, legs stretched out and hands picking at the edges of his fingerless gloves.

He looked over at her. "What do you mean?...Are they Templars?"

"No. They are the reason my father and I came to America."

"Well, why did you come to America?" He completely faced her and propped his arm up on his bent leg.

"There was a murder - his name was Jack Hansen - at the theatre I performed at. Your father orchestrated it all. But apparently, he was very notorious for being hated on both the Assassin and Templar sides. I still don't understand how any of that works." She waved her hand. "Anyways, the Templars pinned his death on my father, but realized that it was equally our fathers' faults, and now his alliances are exacting their revenge for both sides."

"Using us," Connor finished. Elizabeth nodded her head.

"God knows where they're taking us or what they'll do to us once we get there," Elizabeth sighed, leaning her head back against the rocking carriage. She felt the familiar watering in her mouth. "Hey, Connor?"

He blinked. She had never called him by his name before. Or rather, the name he was supposed to be called.

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry," she said through grit teeth.

"...Why?"

And then she leaned over and emptied all of the contents of her stomach right on the floor. She sputtered for a moment, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and coughed.

Connor looked on in horror.

"Thank God I only ate those oranges earlier." Elizabeth looked up and saw the expression on his face. She was far past feeling embarrassment after it happened so many times, especially if it was someone like him. "Hey, it could be worse. It's just water and a bit of fruit."

"But -" He exhaled through his mouth and wedged himself in the corner of the carriage.

"You mean you can handle dead bodies and blood and guts, but you can't handle a bodily function?"

"There is a difference between throwing up a spoiled food or poison and throwing up to be throwing up."

"I wasn't 'throwing up to be throwing up,' asshole. I can't stand the rocking motion of the carriage. Same way with boats; it makes me very sick."

He rubbed his forehead. "How the hell did you ride on a boat for three months to get here, then?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Well, I eventually get used to it, stupid."

"How long does it take?"

"About a week and a half."

"Well, I hope we do not have to travel on any boats," he sighed.

"Touch wood," Elizabeth said, rapping her knuckles on the floor.

Connor looked over at her in confusion. "Why did you do that?"

"It helps with luck, or the opposite, I suppose." Upon seeing his ongoing confusion, she explained a bit more. "Since you said you hoped we wouldn't be riding any boats anytime soon, I said 'touch wood' and knocked on wood to prevent us from getting on any boats. It keeps back luck from happening...Though it's never been recorded to actually work."

Elizabeth suddenly shook her head. She had always been one to share information any chance she got - that always came natural to her because of her mother's teachings - yet when it came to striking up a natural conversation with someone, well, the conversations between her and Connor happened.

In Elizabeth's defense, she was taught from birth to be a nobleman's wife, and a nobleman's wife never said anything that wasn't useful.

"That is very strange."

"Indeed. Us light-skinned people have very stupid superstitions," Elizabeth said, her face stoic as usual.

"That is not what I -"

"I know. I was joking."

There was a long pause.

"I could not tell," Connor said, finishing off the conversation.

. . .

Eight hours later, and both of the teens were growing tired, hungry, and restless. Elizabeth looked over at Connor and was about to say something to get her mind off of their predicament.

At about that time, the carriage lurched to a stop, thrusting the teens sideways in their positions. Elizabeth moved to sit across from Connor beside the back entrance of the transportation and there, took off her shoes and threw them in the corner nearest to her. There was the sound of gravel crunching under foot outside of the transport, then a sloshing of mud.

"Elizabeth," Connor hissed quietly, and she looked up at him. "I know we have had our differences, but now would be the perfect time to forget about the color of my skin and start worrying about someone other than yourself."

"Why?" She glared at him with a boorish look in her green eyes and crossed her arms defensively.

"Not only is my life being threatened, but yours is as well."

A long pause gathered between the two.

"Fine," she hissed. "What the hell do you want me to do?"

The deep thumping of boots sounded closer to the carriage, and Connor quickly grabbed a throwing knife from his belt, deciding it was the only thing that she couldn't accidentally kill herself with, and tossed it over to her. She looked down at the weapon in front of her and furrowed her brow.

"I've never even used a knife in a kitchen, so what makes you think I can kill somebody with one?" She lifted it up carefully by the tip of the blade and inspected both shiny sides. Connor face-palmed.

"It could be useful for when I am not around to save you," he explained. "Just do as I do and please, do not kill me."

"Well, killing you is the only thing I am useful for," Elizabeth said as she completely lifted up the skirt of her dress. Connor yelped and turned his head away from her, then said something in his native tongue as she hid the knife in the top of her stocking.

"Boss said not to worry 'bout the girl, though she is of the most value," the two heard a man with a British accent say from outside. "Just take down the native."

"'She is of the most value?'" Elizabeth repeated to herself and ground her teeth together in utter disgust.

"These men have very low standards," Connor muttered to nobody in particular. She shot him a cold glare. He smirked at her. "I was joking."

Elizabeth grumbled and said, "I couldn't tell...And why are we both repeating things that we say to each other?"

Connor shrugged his shoulders. "I just thought -"

The doors of the carriage were swung wide open with a clang as they connected with the side walls. The two prisoners momentarily blinked away tears from the sunlight burning their unprepared eyes.

"Wha? Smells like rotten fruit in here," one of the men aiding the operation commented. Elizabeth chuckled under her breath, yet Connor wasn't too amused. The outside of the carriage was pounded by a man's fist. "Let's get goin', kids. We ain't got all day for your dillydallyin'."

The two teenagers shared a knowing glance and remained where they were.

"Damnit! Move over an' let me show you how it's done!" A burly man stepped into view and slapped his palm on the floor a little ways from Elizabeth's bare feet. "If ya get the girls first, the boys always come runnin'," he laughed, turning to two men behind him.

It was as if Elizabeth and Connor had made a silent agreement to themselves and each other not to speak to their kidnappers, look at them, and just flat-out unacknowledge them.

"Come on, kitty. Kitty, kitty, kitty," the same burly man taunted to Elizabeth.

He laughed, grabbed onto her ankle, and pulled her forwards a little ways. She let out a strangled grunt when he pulled her further towards the doors.

"Let me go, you disgusting, ugly, waste-of-space animal!" she demanded whilst trying to wiggle out of the man's grip and looked over to Connor. He had his eyes closed and his head bowed, almost as if he was praying or concentrating very hard on how they were to get out of there. She hoped it was the latter.

Elizabeth hit her cheek against the edge of the carriage when the man tugged on her leg, causing her to slide completely out of the box. Her head snapped forward to connect with the sharp corner of the wood and she tumbled into the mud, soaking the clean side of her dress - and the uninjured side of her face - in thick mud. It was the second time that day that she had gotten the poor dress dirty.

Connor sighed and decided that it was best for him to get out of the 'wooden box of death,' as Elizabeth had called it.

"That was very unnecessary," he told the three men that stood there, chuckling at Elizabeth's attempts to get on her feet.

He jumped out of the carriage and stood beside a still-sitting Elizabeth, then noticed a large diagonal gash traveling from her right ear to the edge of her right cheek, beside her nose. Small droplets of blood were sliding sluggishly down her face, mixing in with sweat and mud and the mixture dripped off of her chin. She reached up and wiped at the cut then gasped when she pulled her hand away and saw the blood that had collected on the tips of her fingers.

"You bastards hurt me!" she yelped, cupping her bleeding cheek in both hands.

Of course, there was no pain yet, but seeing the faces she got in response made her keep the dramatics going. Elizabeth was an actress, after all.

She hunched over, buried her face in her hands, and started weeping imaginary tears in an instant. Her hair covered her face like a honey-colored curtain and added to the dramatic aspect of the lie.

"The girl's just emotional is all," one of the men said to dismiss her performance.

The burly man from earlier walked over to Elizabeth, lifted her up, and hoisted her easily over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The only thing keeping her from falling was the tight hold he had on the backs of her knees.

"Take her somewhere else while we get the boy," a thick-muscled, light-headed man ordered, him being one out of the two standing there. Connor snorted and rolled his eyes, yet he knew that he should only fight back when he had a chance.

Now wasn't the time, so he let the ten men that had arrived out of nowhere lead him away, in fear of his safety and that of the stubborn girl who's company he was probably going to be stuck with for a long time after this whole ordeal was over.

. . .

The next morning, Elizabeth awoke to heavy footfalls pacing around her room. Well, it was more like a cage of sorts. It housed a cot and a chamberpot, with a dirty floor and a separate wall of thick bars where she could peer out into darkness if she got bored enough.

She sat up and coughed when the action roused dust from the folds of her cot. The footsteps stopped.

"Who's in here?" she asked hesitantly, slowly rising from the poor excuse for a bed.

"Connor," he said, though it sounded nothing like the boy. His voice had lost its confidence and power, and it was much too hoarse. They had hurt him.

"What did they do to you?" She stood up and reached through the darkness of their cell, hoping she would find him there.

"I am fine. Did they hurt you?"

Elizabeth shook her head, then upon realizing he couldn't see, told him, "No. They threw me in here as soon as I parted from you. Haven't touched me at all."

"I think they are just using one of us as bait for the other."

"That's what I was thinking."

"So, we actually agreed on something." She could feel him smirk through the darkness.

"Hmmm. I guess we do."

Elizabeth paused for a second and worried her bottom lip. No matter how hard she tried to dismiss it, the fact that she would have to push all stereotypes aside and work with him, become friends with him, terrified her. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the teachings her mother would drill into her about never befriending the natives, or the scary stories her childhood peers would rumor around.

Or maybe it was because she just didn't want any friends. Maybe she was afraid of making friends - of losing them like she did her sister. She had always been distant around people since it happened, never wanting to talk to her mother's friends, never wanting to go out, never doing anything besides sitting at home and reading a book or studying or painting.

A set of hoarse coughs snapped Elizabeth back into the real world. She sighed upon realizing it was Connor.

"You're more injured than you're letting on," she concluded, dropping down on all fours and crawling towards the direction of the sound.

He lowered himself to the floor and sat against the wall, cradling his bleeding shoulder in one hand.

"I am fine," he grumbled to her.

Elizabeth reached him, accidentally brushed her hand along the outside of his thigh.

"Ah," she sighed, "here you are."

Connor sucked in a deep breath and scooted away from her. "What are you doing?"

"I can smell the blood, Connor. I know you're hurt. Let me help you."

"No."

"This is the first time in my life that I want to do something for someone besides myself. Now let me help you!"

"Get away from me! Don't - ow, don't touch me!"

Elizabeth gasped and pulled him up into a sitting position after he fell over when she tried to touch his shoulder. "It's your shoulder, isn't it?"

She reached forward through the darkness and touched warm skin, what she was guessing was his neck, and felt him recoil away.

"What's your problem with people touching you?" she asked, moving her hand along the side of his neck until she found the collar of his robes soaked with blood.

"We have known each other for three days. I do not think you need to know such things."

He hissed through grit teeth when she pressed a smooth cloth to the stab wound on his shoulder.

"This is going to get infected, I hope you realize that," she informed him, her voice turning back monotonous.

There was a long pause.

"Why are you helping me, Elizabeth?"

"I would really like to keep you alive for when we get out of this place, that's why," she retorted.

Using the throwing knife in her stocking, Elizabeth cut off half of the skirt of her long dress and, feeling for wet spots, ripped away the bits that were clean to wrap up his shoulder.

"Thank you," he muttered to her as she wrapped the long strips of cloth over his shoulder and under his arm. She tied it off.

"It wasn't a problem," she replied. "Just don't put a lot of strain on your arm... Wait - why are you in here with me? I thought you would have your own cell. Unless..."

"They were planning on something like this to happen," Connor finished.

A faint light came from the hallway, growing brighter as the same burly man from yesterday carried a lantern to their cell. Elizabeth took the opportunity to really look at Connor. She refused to accept the fact that she found him quite appealing under all of the blood. The dark skin of his face was splattered with it, his bottom lip was busted, there was a cut on the outer edge of his eyebrow. She took a deep breath. Stared at the crimson staining the white of his robes so badly one couldn't even tell they had been white.

Elizabeth shook her head to distinguish all thoughts about him from her head. She decided it was just the shock of being kidnapped, and she was looking for an appeal in the only person she could really trust.

She sighed in relief once she looked at him again and became disgusted at the idea of him being attractive in any way.

Connor glanced out of the corner of his eyes and saw her staring at him. "What?"

The girl shook her head. "You told me you were fine. You lied."

"My my, kiddies! What've we got here?" Elizabeth jumped at the new voice that echoed around the cell.

She looked up and snarled upon seeing the same burly man from yesterday. Then she realized how close Connor and her were and immediately got up and walked over to her cot where she sat down.

"How sweet," the burly man laughed, "you helped the little native boy with his wound." He lifted the keys from his belt and they jangled in hand as he searched for the right one, then found it. The lock clicked and the cell door opened.

"Do not touch her," Connor hissed as he tried to rise to his feet, using the wall for leverage. He reached for his tomahawk and grasped air. He then remembered that they had taken all of his weapons.

"Too bad," the burly man said in a mocking tone and stepped over to where Elizabeth sat. "I was going to give her a scar like the one you're gonna have." He grabbed the girl by the arm and led her from the cell. She didn't say anything.

There was a jangling of keys, then a clang as the cell door was shut and locked into place.

And darkness once again.

Connor was left to himself, to sit and think of a plan of escape all alone until that stupid girl came back to him. God knows what they would do to her.

{...}

**Translations:**

_"Mo ghrá! Conas a chaill mé tú amhlaidh." - _My love! How I've missed you so.

{...}

**A/N**:

Thank you so much for the favorties/alerts/reviews for both me and my story. I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Two Caged Animals

_"Every stress leaves an indelible scar, and the organism pays for its survival after a stressful situation by becoming a little older." -Hans Selye_

{..}

Elizabeth was led from her shared cell with Connor and down a dark, dusty hallway. The oil lantern that the brute was holding lit up the various other cells within the small prison. There were men and women, children, teenagers, adults, and even one or two elders. It seemed as if only a third of them were white, though. The rest were either african american or native american.

She proceeded to hang her head in fear and trepidation at the people's terrified, bloody faces, knowing that she, too, would be facing their same fate.

"Walk!" the brute said, yanking her forward by the arm so roughly she thought she heard the joint pop out of place.

He led her by the last set of prisoners - a mother and her daughter and son, who both were around the age of eleven - and knocked on a metal door in a code-like fashion - two knocks, a pause, three knocks, another pause, then five knocks in succession, but she couldn't keep up with the rest - then the locks were heard clicking as they slid out of the way, and Elizabeth tried to make a mental note of that same code inside her head.

The doors opened and a short hallway appeared, then a set of stairs. She then realized that the prison was underground.

Droplets of sweat beaded on the brute's forehead beside Elizabeth, and she tried her hardest to remember every physical feature that stood out on him. Actually, Elizabeth tried to remember anything she could that would aid in their escape. For instance, there were only two guards stationed at the first metal door past the cells, yet there were three at the next, where she and the brute were standing. It would give Elizabeth and Connor enough time to cut down the two guards and pick the second set of locks, but only about four seconds for them to react before the three guards came screaming and alerting the rest. Things like these, Elizabeth knew, could even save or kill someone within a knick of time.

"You seem like the type a' girl 'at's good with Science and Arithmetic - book stuff. No common sense," the brute mocked, tightening his grip on Elizabeth's arm.

"I'll have you know, I excel in more than just books, my dear enemy. I'm also a great fan of war. You know, strategic planning, manipulation - the 'thinking' side of battle," she retorted and licked at her dry lips.

"Your mummy must have taught you well."

"That she did."

"Too bad she didn't teach you any combat." Elizabeth didn't realize they had stopped until he had pressed her against the wall of the hallway, lifted up her skirts, and he let her stand there for a second in fear of what he might do, his breath on her face, those lovely jade eyes of hers sparkling with such terror that he chuckled. He pulled the throwing knife from her stocking, and she let out a slow, relieved breath. "It would have provided very useful just then."

Then she thrashed against him, uselessly knocking the lantern from his hand, and the whole room filled with darkness as it shattered across the floor. The actress cursed herself over and over in her head, until she felt a sharp pinch of pain in her lower abdomen.

The rest of the trip from there was a blur. Literally. Her vision began to blur pitifully, yet he still forced her to walk on her own, the only support given was his hand gripping her arm. She shielded her eyes from the brightness of the sun and started as her feet gnashed against what felt like gravel. Sharp, painful rocks dug into her toes as the man forced her to stand upright and walk, but by that point, he was dragging her across the ground. Her feet met mud, grass, and those damned gravels again on her journey, so she had no choice but to think of the significance seeing the place would be.

She opened her eyes and tried to focus. Specs of red, green, white, and brown filled Elizabeth's vision, so she blinked a copious amount of times. Everything became much more clear. There was a barn on the western side of the farm, mostly hidden by a tall field of various plants and a wooden fence. The gravel that she felt from earlier was from the back of a white mansion - where the prison was held in the basement - a large square covering most of the grass there; its purpose was unknown. There were also slaves passing by her and working in the fields, folding clothes by the manor, all completely unaware of her presence. Either that, or they were just too afraid to look her way, or maybe they had seen it so many times it was just normal. It was a thought that made Elizabeth's blood run cold.

The girl also noticed that the carriage that she and Connor had been transported in was still sitting in its same spot, wheels buried in the mud. The trail that was driven ended at the back of the manor, curved around the right side of it and ran straight, and at about fifty feet it curved again, going as far right as she could see until it became shielded by the large trees.

"What is this place?" she muttered, though the brute beside her overheard.

"This is Jack Hansen's property, the man that both your and 'at savage's father killed. Ten acres of pure farming, slave-owning, assassin-torturing land." He made a proud, wide arc of his arm at the whole place.

They stopped at a small, worn-down shed, which was quite far enough away from the rest of the place. It was mildly hidden within the trees, and by the looks of it, that was her worst nightmare come to life.

The man leading Elizabeth threw her over his shoulder like a ragdoll and marched toward the doors. He opened them with a "Ta-da!" and sat her down on a metal chair, complete with arm, leg, chest, and head confinements all made of metal. One by one he locked the girl into place, and as the loud clanks met her ears, her heart beat climbed higher and higher until a loud pounding in her ears blocked out all thoughts from her head.

"Listen," Elizabeth bargained, "I'm not one to beg, but . . ." She trailed off once she saw him pull over a small wooden table and sit a chest down on top of it. He slowly opened it with a creak and emptied out the contents one by one.

"Don't worry, my dear," he hushed her, then walked over to stand in front of the chair, "you won't be the one getting tortured today."

"Then why am I-"

"Bring in the girl!"

Elizabeth had tried hard to keep her stoic expression last at that point, but she had to try even harder after they opened the door and led the same eleven year old girl from the last cell. She was the african american girl who shared the cell with her mother and brother.

The brute ordered the two slaves to sit her in the chair opposite to Elizabeth. For a moment, Elizabeth thought she saw a flash of anger in the man's eyes to the left of the girl. She came to the conclusion that this man was the girl's father after realizing how much the two resembled each other.

A chill ran through Elizabeth. This man had to not only know that his daughter was suffering horrible treatment, but he had to strap her in the chair where it happened. How could somebody be that cruel to subject a person to such extremes?

"You may go now," the brute ordered, snapping Elizabeth from her thoughts.

The little girl's father paused a moment beside her, leaned down to kiss her on the temple and whisper something in her ear, and glanced over at Elizabeth with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Jus do as a' man say. Answer the stuff he ask ya. I don't wan' my baby gettin' hurt," he told her and walked out the door.

Elizabeth did nothing but hang her head as she felt the blood from her stab wound soak into the skirts of her dress. She took in deep breaths in an attempt to calm her beating heart, and to hide the tears that would inevitably come.

"Ya see 'is girl right 'ere? Her name's Tanya. She's only eight." The brute laughed, a hoarse, mocking sound. "So, I'ma ask you some questions, Elizabeth, and if you don't give me the information that I want, well..." He stepped around Elizabeth and stood behind Tanya, running his fingers along the back of her neck. "'Is girl'll pay the price."

Elizabeth exhaled in defeat. Tanya was eight, the same age as Melinda when she... The seventeen-year-old couldn't bear to watch this innocent little girl getting beaten and hurt because of her, so she decided that she would have to talk, answer any of the questions this man asked her.

The rest of the day was spent in that small little shed, which had grown increasingly colder as the day went on and the sun began to set. Elizabeth was freezing cold by the end of the session. She was also exhausted; she had been asked about the names of people, certain landmarks, places, things, and she felt so guilty whenever she didn't know something, which was almost every time, given the fact that she had not the slightest idea of the nature concerning Alexander's work. Tanya then had to be punished. The first time that it happened Elizabeth had to clamp her eyes shut and drown out the sounds of those poor, agonizing screams as the man interrogating her sliced deep pockets in the little girl's skin. She had to force back a gag on many occasions, and also had to mentally steel herself as the little girl cried out "Pretty lady, please!" more than once. Elizabeth had to beg him to stop, tell him that she truly didn't know what any of her father's assassination contracts were. Why that was of such importance to him? She had not the faintest understanding of any of it.

Bubbling up from the memory, Elizabeth had to forcibly raise her head and ignore the throbbing in her neck at the strain from it; her head felt like dead weight atop her shoulders and neck. She looked through the darkness as her eyes slowly adjusted and locked gazes with little Tanya. The girl was staring at her with pleading eyes and wet cheeks that were shiny in the moonlight of the window above them.

Elizabeth could say nothing. She was in too much of a shock from all of the events that had happened and that look - Tanya was so, so scared and angry at the blonde that she began to bawl again. Except her cries sounded like a wounded, hoarse animal that had accepted the finality of its fate.

"It's okay, Tanya," Elizabeth whispered in a voice that sounded distinctively distant... and nothing like her own. It was gruff and much too quiet for her liking.

"It ain't okay! You know it ain't okay, so stop lyin'," Tanya replied through her heartbreaking sobs. "You is a girl who's always got what she wanted, is you?" Elizabeth bowed her head in a pregnant response. "You ain't got no reason to be sayin' that it's okay, cause you ain't the one gettin' beat and hurt every day. You is white. You got it lucky around here."

"Tanya-"

At that moment, the same man that had been with them barged into the shed, along with many other guards. The two girls were released from the confinements, lifted from their seats, and were led out of the shed, both of them going opposite ways. Elizabeth was dragged toward the manor, and for a minute she felt relieved. Being in that cell meant that nobody could hurt her, and while Connor's company wasn't the best, it was a definite distraction from her surroundings; they would continually tease and pick on each other like little children - it was entertaining and would pass the time.

After what felt like an hour of walking, Elizabeth was finally thrown into her cell, and she cried out when the hard floor knocked the breath from her lungs as she fell onto her back. She rolled over onto her stomach and screamed into her sleeve. The men had stripped her of her robes, jewelry, and stockings, so all she had on were her underthings and a long-sleeved chemise.

She leaned her cheek against her forearm and met Connor's neutral gaze. Neither of them said anything for a while until:

"I know what you're thinking," Elizabeth whispered, a dangerous edge to her voice, "and I don't need your sympathy. So stay away from me, savage."

She closed her eyes and all she saw was little Tanya begging the brute to stop, crying and covered in her own blood. Elizabeth felt a hand on her shoulder, large and calloused, and she had to fight back tears at the gesture.

"Get up," Connor ordered. "You should stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"If I want to wallow in my self pity, I will. You can't stop me." Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes blazing with anger; she tried to push him away but he proved to be too strong, so she just pressed feebly against his chest. "Go. Get away!"

Connor told her, "I am not leaving."

She lowered her hands and crossed them defiantly across her chest. "Well, if you're looking for a 'please' you're in the wrong place."

Connor sighed. "You are impossible, woman." He rose from the floor and chose the sit on their cot, which was made of a few brick slabs and a thin layer of straw covered by a wool blanket. He stretched out and lay down his head.

Both teenagers stilled themselves; after an hour, Elizabeth hadn't moved from her place on the floor, and Connor didn't dare talk to her anymore after that. Soon enough though, he heard her ragged breathing even out and slow down. She had fallen asleep. He wasn't so lucky, of course, remaining wide-eyed by the pain coursing through his shoulder, so he just stared up at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the cement until he, too, drifted off into a light sleep.

{...}

Alexander raced across the rooftops of Boston, anger and panic coursing through his veins. The sweat beading his forehead caused a few stray, blonde hairs to stick to his skin, and his worn muscles begged for a rest; he had been running for hours. Ever since his Boston confidant reported seeing one of Jack Hansen's allies and his men drag a girl resembling Elizabeth and a native boy away from the abandoned part of Boston, Alexander began to see crimson red. They had been gone for a long time before that. He immediately began asking the townspeople about Elizabeth's whereabouts, and a man had directed him to the Green Dragon Tavern - a well-known hangout for Templars - saying that he saw her enter with a man that fit the profile of Thomas Hickey. The father grew even more mad.

"How could that damn woman let this happen?" Alexander hissed, taking a moment to lean against the tower connected to the rooftop he was standing on and rub his aching back. He was growing older than he realized.

The assassin let a slow, labored breath. It was bad enough that he lost the only woman he had ever been in love with, had let her slip through his fingers, but now he was balancing on the fate of his only living daughter. The man had no idea where Elizabeth had been taken, what was happening to her, or if she was even alive, for God's sake! That thought made him seethe with temporary insanity. He pushed away from the wall and continued on his path toward the Green Dragon Tavern. This was the last time the Templars would take anything away from him.

{...}

It was roughly three hours after sunrise when the guards came to check on each of the cells. Connor was up and about, doing what little exercise he could in the small confinement, but Elizabeth was dead asleep - she had been for hours. Of course, the girl was a rich, pampered actress, so any kind of stress put on her would just wear her down, whereas Connor could go days without eating or sleeping. He was familiar with getting stab wounds and the occasional broken bone, also, so this 'torture' was nothing more than what he did on a daily basis. Elizabeth? The worst she had been hurt was on the ship to America.

Connor looked over just as one of the guards lifted his lantern up to the bars, slid two things under the cell door, and walked away. He crawled around in search for them, as there was no light in the place when they left, and gasped when he felt something warm and soft under his touch. He pulled his hand away for a moment, then curiosity edged it forward again; it was Elizabeth, the assassin finally realized, but - what was that over her? It was loose against her frame, so Connor took it in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elizabeth mumbled in her drowsy state, the anger not yet having a chance to rise.

"This cloth over your body - what is it?"

She knocked his hand away and sat up, then pulled a frown when his hand brushed her leg. "It's called silk. Now - hey, stop that! God, are all of you savages this horny all the time?"

Connor knit his eyebrows together in thought. "Hor-ny? What is that word? I have never heard it before."

Elizabeth blinked for a moment and, upon realizing what he had said, raised her eyebrows. "You really don't - no, I'm not having this conversation with you." As she walked away from him he heard her whisper, "An assassin and he doesn't even know simple, nasty words. What the hell has Achilles been _teaching_ him?"

"Why would Achilles teach me those things?" Connor replied.

She chuckled coldly. "Yes, I forgot. Not everyone has a whore for a mother who teaches her daughter those things."

"What things?"

"The act of pleasing a man, basic sexual words I might need for future reference - in case anyone tries to use them on me, prostitution, things like that."

"That is not something a mother should be teaching her child."

"My mother should never have _been_ a mother in the first place. She wants to do nothing but drink and party and have sex with strangers - men and women. She never even wanted to have my sister and I to begin with." The last sentence was said in a much quieter voice than the others, and Connor noticed how uncomfortable she became when talking about her mother.

He tried to change the subject, but it proved to be no less painful than the first.

"Your sister? I did not know you have a sister."

"_Had_," Elizabeth scoffed.

"Excuse me?"

The girl rolled her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in the throat. "She died when I was thirteen."

"May I ask h -"

"No," she whispered, her voice low and cautioning. She cleared her throat and Connor heard the long intake of breath, signaling her defeat.

"I did not mean to pry..."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Elizabeth stretched out her legs and felt something hard and leathery under foot. "What the... ?"

Connor's head snapped up. "What?"

"It's a book," she informed him, using her foot to reel it in, for she was too lazy to actually get up. "Maybe a journal of some sort. Where did this come from?"

The assassin slowly made his way over to where Elizabeth sat and eased down next to her. "Well," he started, "the guards came by earlier and slid something under the bars."

"Ah, they bring us a book but not light to see. A bunch of geniuses, they are." She grumbled under her breath and tossed the thing angrily across the room. "I hate this fucking place."

As Elizabeth inwardly seethed, Connor nonchalantly reached over and touched the silk covering her thigh. It wasn't his fault he hadn't felt it before, and it was extremely soft under his fingertips.

"Hey, Connor?"

"... Yes?"

"STOP TOUCHING MY DAMNED DRESS!"


End file.
